And just like that, something inside shifted very subtly, so that all the empty spaces in him suddenly disappeared, so that his breath timed to hers, so that his blood sang. This is why there was music, he realized. There were some feelings that just didn’t have words big enough to describe them.

The music we listen to may not define who we are. But it’s a damn good start.

Then Henry speaks again. "Did he do it?" I turn to him slowly. "Does it matter?

As for his name, well, what attorney wouldn't want to be able put a Judge in a crate every now and then?

For me, every book is a journey - questioning a really difficult topic that most people don't want to talk about, much less write about. And that's what I need; that works for me as a writer.

I close my eyes, thinking that there is nothing like an embrace after an absence, nothing like fitting my face into the curve of his shoulder and filling my lungs with the scent of him.

If you've lived through it, you already know there are no words that will ever come close to describing it, and if you didn't - you will never understand.